Ticking Clocks
by Hetanna
Summary: England falls ill and France takes the task of caring for him, but America may not be so happy about that. France x England x America love triangle thingy... Enjoy! Human names used!
1. Bound to his Study

It was silent in that study. Not a single sound filled the dry, stuffy air-not even blessed by the ticking of a clock. No, such objects were forbidden in that room. The work of Arthur Kirkland was never to stop until it was done, and that meant that there was no need for objects of time keeping. Time, after all, would only distract him.

The problem was that the loss of time meant no need for cessation. If one night he was bound to his study, he would not be released until the light of dawn blinded his eyes, or if Francis or Alfred decided to come by and drag him from his realm.

But it was a given fact that time still existed in the practicality of it all, and there was nothing Arthur could do to change that. Although he hid from it, he couldn't deny the long nights of merciless work no matter what the climate, no matter what his mindset and no matter what the date, were beginning to take their toll.

It had been four nights since he'd slept more than two hours. The Allies conference was tomorrow. But there was a brand new book of proposed laws sitting in front of him, each page of specific, attention hogging text requiring his signature at the bottom.


	2. Wave of Concern

"So, I was thinkin' we could build this totally awesome ship thingy and use it to bust through the home of whoever got in our way and send out a couple hundred men from the hidden underside compartment to scare the freakin' hell outta them while we rummage for the loot!"

A series of exasperated facepalms reverberated through the room. Ivan was the first to make an objection. although he didn't seem as dumbfounded by Alfred's plans as the other Allied nations were at that time.

"Mm..." he mumbled, his hand slightly raised, "I think we should start off simple. Then we can blow their heads off with atomic bombs as much as we like and not only make it cheaper for us by leaving that to the very end, but ensure as much sudden shock as possible to make their faces when they're about to die especially hilarious."

"Idiots! Both of you, aru!" Yao yelled as he jumped up, slamming his fists down onto the table, "Ivan, you always have to exaggerate the physical suffering of others, aru! I don't understand why we can't just sit back and wait for them to get into financial crisis or civil war or something so that we can step in when they're at their weakest and attack quietly, aru!"

"But that wouldn't be as fun, Yao..."

"Yeah, dude! Gotta take the initiative or you'll get nowhere in less than a century!"

"A century is nothing, aru! When you've lived for four thousand years, you learn to appreciate taking each stage in life as slowly as it comes, aru!"

"But we haven't all lived for that long, have we? Kol, kol."

"Hahaha! Don't sweat the small stuff; just go with the hero flow!"

"...I-I agree with Alfred... I think we should-"

"Who are you?"

"I'm... Never mind." Matthew placed his head onto the table and accepted his fate.

The only one in the room at that time who was not joining in the quarrel was Francis Bonnefoy. Rather, he was completely and utterly silent, his face completely and utterly blank and his hands completely and utterly still. Usually he would be fighting just as vigorously as the others, ensuring complete failure of any meetings. But he didn't have anybody to fight with today. Arthur hadn't showed up at the meeting.

Francis felt odd without him-although he hated every part of his being, it made his days interesting to find new things to pick on about British society or style or anything else he could think of, and he hadn't had a day without being faced by him in many a year.

Just as Francis was about to try and null the chaos in the room, his strange longing was satisfied. Arthur slowly wandered into the conference room, his arms wrapped around a few folders and his expression grave.

The other Allies turned to face him, most expressions completely indifferent, but their attention focused nonetheless.

"Dude, what took you so long?" Alfred asked, as the leader of the meeting, "We started about an hour ago, man! You missed so much!"

"He's lying, aru..." Yao sighed, "Just sit down. You can make up for it later, aru."

"Yep! You can make up for it, or I might just have to change the shape of your body into that of two species ago, OK? Kol, kol."

Arthur forced a hint of a smile. "...Sorry, you guys..." he said almost breathlessly, "I-I...lost track of time."

He took another step into the room, a deep, heavy sigh escaping his lungs as he made his way towards the seat next to Francis. He dropped the files without effort onto the desk, and as soon as his chair was untucked enough for him to land safely in it, he flopped down just as heavily as the files had fallen.

Only then did Francis say anything to him, after the background was again filled with the nonsense of the meeting.

"Hey... Mon ami," he said softly, "We...missed you."

Arthur turned his head a miniscule degree to face Francis, before his head dropped forwards again. Too much effort to keep it held up.

"...Yeah, right. I already said sorry. What more could you want?"

Francis scrunched his face up a little at that. Normally he'd be on the floor, having been pounced on by now. This was definitely not right.

It was then that Francis noticed how much Arthur looked like utter crap at that moment. His face was devoid of any colour, except from a deep pink band stretching from his left cheek, over the bridge of his nose and to the right; it was such a contrast to the rest of his face's colour that it almost looked as though it was drawn on. His usually firey emerald eyes were dulled over, taking on somewhat of a grey tinge, which carried on downwards, producing dark bags almost the length of a large nail. Since Francis sat close enough to Arthur around the tiny little table in the conference room, he was almost able to feel him shivering, too.

"...What are you looking at?" Arthur asked, noting the fixed gaze upon him from his enemy.

Francis wondered whether he should have let it slide for now, but an indescribable wave of concern flew over him at that precise moment, and he leant in closer against his will, taking a hand from beside him and placing it on Arthur's chin, his opposite hand landing firmly upon his forehead.

His burning, sweating, pounding forehead.

"Francis!" Arthur immediately yelped, the attention of all the other Allies immediately snapping to him, "What the hell do you think you're-"

Silence.

"...doing...?"

The final word whispered, Arthur's body seized up in Francis' grasp and flopped forward, bringing Francis down onto the floor with him.

"What the...?" Alfred's voice came out stunned and weak as he stood from his chair, his heart in his mouth.

Francis just laid there on the floor with Arthur by his side, one arm wrapped around him, the other hand still firmly on his forehead, trying to figure out how a temperature so high could be possible.

After a little while of staring, Alfred unable to be the hero for once, Francis stood up with Arthur over his shoulder, his face more stern than Ludwig's on a training ridden Saturday morning with Feliciano refusing to get up and work.

"Le temps, mes amis?"

Yao looked up from his watch. "Just went past noon, aru."

"Très bon..." He hoisted the unconscious island nation up a bit more, for fear that he would slip, "I hope you will excuse me, then..."

"Mm..." The mumble came from nobody in particular as Francis departed, and was followed by only silence.

Alfred shuffled around a bit in his place before seating himself, clearing his throat and attempting to catch the attention of the others. It startled him a little when it actually worked.

He tried to continue the meeting. But he couldn't get the single thought of Francis' reversion to his home tongue out of his head. He'd hung around that guy long enough to know that his efforts to speak along with the rest of them were only ever foiled when he was either pissed off or damn worried...

Alfred couldn't help but feel a little jealous of Francis at that time. But he couldn't quite put his finger on why.


	3. Fool

"Merde..." Francis mumbled to himself, only one hand free and the lock to Arthur's home refusing to give way under the paper clip's pressure. Still, he carried on. He couldn't very well go back to his own home; he knew Arthur well enough to predict that as soon as he woke up, he'd want to be anywhere but in some frog's house, especially the particular one in question.

Another reason for carrying on might have been that if Arthur were to have woken up on the shoulder of said Frenchie, there would have been hell to pay.

"Ah!" The lock finally gave way. Francis made a mental note to have the lock replaced just in case any damage was done, before Arthur found out.

The French man betrayed the trusty paper clip, immediately opening up the door and proceeding to enter the house. And the first thing he saw when he did so was an inch thick layer of dust over each and every item in the hall. Looked as though it would fly out and block his vision upon any minor disturbance. Had Arthur not cleaned this house in years...? Certainly looked that way.

No matter, though. Francis set about locating Arthur's room as soon as possible; his laboured breathing was increasing in frequency and volume and Francis could feel the heat radiating from him with increasing intensity. Being hunched over was obviously not helping.

He walked up the grand stairs to the first landing, hoping that Arthur's room wasn't too many floors up, and praying to God that he would find some indication that he'd gotten the right door. It had been too long since Francis last came to Arthur's home... He could hardly remember the layout of the building, let alone the location of separate rooms.

Finding himself at the first landing, and more furniture covered in layers of dust, he eyed his surroundings with haste. All of the doors had the same white painted finish on them, none of them labelled. Merde, did Arthur never have visitors? By this point Francis had already given up looking for Arthur's room and instead set about looking for any room that had a comfortable looking bed in it; if he didn't get Arthur down on a soft surface soon, he was afraid that he'd start to suffocate under that rugged, rough breath.

Thankfully, the first door he opened revealed a room with little more than a single bed and a window-almost resembling a hospital room, which Francis noted as being rather fitting for his purpose-and he decided on this place to be Arthur's resting place under his care. He entered, noting the creaking floorboards and trying to remember where the worst offenders were, and withdrew the blanket with haste, then carefully set Arthur down on the mattress. Francis' face scrunched up a bit; the bed, unfortunately, seemed to resemble the ones at hospitals, too-not suited for permanent use and certainly not too comfortable. But it would have to do.

It was almost as soon as the blanket was repositioned over Arthur's body that the breathing that was previously uncontrolled and quick began to calm down. Francis smiled meekly at his early work.

"Cher," he sighed, "What the hell did you do to get to be in this position, hm? You gave me such a fright..."

Arthur, as if to answer, groaned and shuffled around a bit. Francis again positioned his hand on his forehead. It definitely had gotten hotter since last time he checked. He could only hope that it too would reform after a little bit of rest.

Then the sound of the French national anthem started rolling through the air, Francis jumping at the sudden noise and then realising it was just his phone ringing in his pocket. Although he didn't want to take his eyes off Arthur, he decided he'd better answer before the racket woke him up.

"Allo..." he said half-heartedly.

"Hey, Francis..." came Alfred's voice on the other side, "The meeting just finished, dude. I thought I'd call and see how things were goin', you know, with Artie and stuff..."

Francis chuckled softly, "He would kill you if he heard you call him that," he warned, "But it is thoughtful of you to check in. I cannot speak for how he is coming along, for he has only just gotten down to rest, but I can tell you I don't think it looks good to start with..."

"Yeah? How so?" Francis could hear a sense of held back panic in Alfred's voice.

"His fever is rather high. I am afraid that it might be causing him quite some discomfort..." Francis stopped himself from going into detail, "Ah, but Alfred, I'd rather not trouble you. I know that you care rather deeply for Arthur... This must be causing you quite some concern; to have called straight after the meeting ended and not attacked the local fast food restaurant immediately after you were let out of the doors..."

There was a pause before the next comment from Alfred.

"And what's that supposed to mean, exactly?" he decided to say at last, his voice somewhat subdued and his tone low and sober.

Francis chuckled with an air of knowing and yet a sense of soft discomfort, ending with a long, breathy sigh.

"I mean, Alfred, that you and Arthur have had your downfalls together, but have ultimately kept a bond that nobody could ever match."

Alfred just answered with an uncomfortable grumble. Then Arthur began to stir, and Francis immediately hung up, not even remembering to tell Alfred where or why he was going, and chucked the mobile across the room, meeting Arthur at his level when he came around.

Arthur didn't open his eyes for a while, instead shuffling around, his bones aching with every movement, slowly coming to terms with his new state of consciousness. He could sense the light from the window before he even opened his eyes to it, so he preferred to keep them shut to have any chance possible at subduing the sensation it gave him. Light was a rare thing when so many English days were overcast, but when his head was throbbing behind his eyeballs with the intensity it owned that time, he wished it would go away and never come back.

Eventually, though, he started to hear the soft call of someone near to him. He would have preferred to be in utter silence, but this call...was soothing him somewhat. Still, he had no idea who it was, and a mixture of curiosity and the fact that a call from so close to him must have meant that someone was right there, watching him lay there so helplessly, made him want to satisfy the urge to find out.

When his dulled eyes fluttered open, although hazy, his vision revealed Francis' concerned face over him, and he immediately rolled his eyes and flopped onto his side. How utterly humiliating... Francis, of all people, was sitting there, watching him sleep?

"Cher?" came the call of Francis again, along with a hand upon Arthur's torso, "Are you alright? You shouldn't flip over like that so suddenly! It might put your body under strain..."

"Don't you tell me what I can and can't do, frog!"

As soon as Arthur shot up from the bed to shout that, his chest felt as though it had caved in, and all he wanted to do was choke up the entire contents of his body, but knowing that it would prove Francis right was enough to stop it, so he just flopped back down onto his back and stared blankly at the ceiling.

Francis slowly shook his head as he watched him. "This is no time to be throwing insults around like you've got too many of them to spare," he said sternly, "Do you not know that you are ill? Can you not string together enough logic to realise that, you fool?"

Arthur's face scrunched up. Fool? How did Francis, of all people, have the right to call him a fool? He knew very well that he wasn't very well. And he knew very well that Francis knew very well that he wasn't very well. But by God! He wasn't going to admit that. No; he'd done rather well so far in preventing himself from proving Francis right, and he wasn't going to destroy that by accepting his theories now.

"What time is it?" Arthur groggily asked instead of continuing on the conversation, for fear that he wouldn't be able to string together enough of an argument under his tiredness.

"At present, it is one o' clock in the afternoon, cher," Francis said blankly, "Why, are you so tired that you cannot simply raise your head to check the clock on the wall?"

"Are you doing this to spite me...?"

"No, I'm just trying to get you to come to terms with how worried I am."

...Did he really just say that? He didn't mean to say that. But he said that. And it was final.

Arthur simply turned over again to face the other direction, hitting his body hard on the mattress as if on purpose. "Well, I am most certainly doing this to spite _you_."

A smile tugged at Francis' lips. At least Arthur seemed to take his accidental outburst of concern with a pinch of salt. He supposed that Arthur might not have wanted to believe him. Or perhaps that he just couldn't be arsed to acknowledge it.

Then the smile faded away. Francis had to face facts, didn't he...? Arthur hadn't reacted to his concern...because he didn't share Francis' ultimate feelings. A fist made its way to the centre of Francis' chest, quivering slightly. He knew from the bottom of the heart that laid behind that fist that Arthur wanted nothing to do with France, French culture, or indeed, Francis.


	4. Heroic

"Calm the hell down, aru!" Yao screamed at the top of his voice, to the nervous wreck which was Alfred F. Jones, pacing frantically around the near empty conference room; Ivan having had to scoot off after the threat of Natalia on the phone, looking for him.

Alfred quickly turned around and snapped at him. "How the hell can I calm down, huh?" he yelped, phone still in hand, "Francis just cut me off like that. And straight after telling me that Arthur's really sick, too... How am I meant to be calm when I've only got half the story? He might have been choking or something...! What will I do if he dies?"

Yao facepalmed. "Now I know you're overreacting, aru," he said, "You know perfectly well he can't die, so you must be at a new level of scared to have forgotten that, aru."

"Still..." Alfred whined, lumping down into his chair, having become tired of pacing around. He fidgeted for a little while, before eventually adding in a tiny voice, "Francis is with him, after all..."

Yao grunted, "What, aru? I didn't quite catch that," to which Alfred answered with an upright jerk and a blush.

How had he managed to let that slip? What an idiot, he was thinking, to match Arthur's ever growing impression of him. And then the thought of Arthur made him blush even more. Which made him even more nervous. Which made him start stuttering. And then there was no way he could hide the obvious truth from Yao.

"No way..." Yao gasped, the slightest hint of a grin tugging up at his lips, "You're telling me you're jealous of Francis, aru?"

"Jealous?" Alfred shouted, adding, "Jealous of that total dork? No chance!" and ending with his signature hero's laugh to try and cover up his complete and utter lie.

But it was too obvious already; Nantucket proving to be a tattletale and drooping into his face to betray his 'A-OK' façade. And he knew it, too.

He sighed. "...Whatever, Yao," he mumbled, his hand trying to hide his flushed face, "Think what you want. You're getting nothing else out of me."

Yao moved up beside Alfred with a soft smile, pulling over his chair and sitting down. "Come on, aru. I wouldn't tease you for your feelings; you should know that."

"And why's that?"

"Because I've lived enough years and known enough people to realise that _love_ is not something you should mess with, aru."

At the word _love_, Alfred shivered and shrank into himself. It sounded _so_ uncool. _So _cliché. Heroes were clichéd enough as it was these days! For him of all people to fall in love... It would forever doom the community of heroes to a future of ridicule and contempt!

And yet...it was so, undeniably and irrevocably true!

Yao grinned to himself. "I won't tease you, aru," he promised, "But I'd like to give you some advice."

Alfred sheepishly lifted his head. "Advice...?" he repeated.

Yao nodded, leaning slightly inward to maintain eye contact. "If you don't get in there while you can, you never will be able to again."

Alfred lifted an eyebrow.

"What I mean to say, aru, is that I've kept an eye on Francis since our alliance was formed. Not once have I seen him without the hints of love that he has now, which means that he's probably had them since long before, as well, aru. And Francis being Francis... I can see that he isn't going to wait much longer before he ends up taking his eyes off Arthur and replacing them with something a little more intimate, if you know what I'm saying, aru."

Alfred inwardly gagged at the thought. Sounded so wrong. In more than one way.

"So, aru!" Yao concluded, "If you want to get in there, you'd better use this as your chance!"

It was then that Alfred finally realised what Yao was getting at. And it sounded...heroic, in a way. He remembered the last time Arthur had managed to fall ill. Francis had been there the whole time, hadn't he...? Alfred hadn't really understood the prospect that time. But now he could see that the reason was Francis' ultimate feelings, which Alfred himself had now realised that he shared. He remembered bursting in and distracting Francis from something he hadn't figured out at the time since he was so caught up in his own business... But on reflection, Alfred realised exactly what kind of a fate he had saved the Brit from...

Wasn't this time just like that...? Except now, Alfred had a greater understanding of his purpose.

"Francis...isn't the kind of person to stop other people's love, is he?" Alfred said with a side glance to Yao, "If I...were in his position from last time... You know, taking care of Arthur like he was... He wouldn't come in and stop me, would he?"

"Not a chance, aru," Yao said, "So all you've got to do is somehow replace Francis with yourself before it's too late. Think of it as some kind of mission, aru."

Alfred laughed half heartedly, but he was glad that he was even able to laugh at all. "A mission, huh...? I could become a better hero because of it..."

"And bag yourself what you've always wanted, aru."

Alfred's laugh returned, but this time with its full gusto. That was one hell of a win-win situation if he'd ever heard of one!

"Dude... Thanks, Yao," he said with a smirk, giving the Chinese man a quick hug before jumping up and out of his seat, "Well, I've got to be a hero, then! See ya!"

And with that, he was out of the door and headed for Arthur's house.

Yao smirked to himself, noting the pile of files Alfred had left behind. Normally he would have shouted at him and told him to stop being such a slob, but after that... Yao was just glad that Alfred seemed to be back to his normal self.


	5. Bedsheets

Arthur hadn't been able to get to sleep again. Even since he'd decided to completely ignore Francis' attempts at conversation and made him leave to find something of his own business to tend to, he hadn't been able to close his eyes long enough to lose consciousness. He half wished that he hadn't woken up at all since he apparently collapsed on the ground. But then again, he didn't really want to admit that that had happened, either. After all, if that had happened... Then Francis really _must _have been the one to carry him all the way home, like he had been boasting ever since he'd regained his awakeness.

And that...would never do.

About thirty minutes had passed since Francis had left the room. It had taken Arthur that long to realise something that should have come so naturally to him: he had been lying there, doing absolutely nothing with his time. He winced at the thought. Not only had he missed out on the entire Allies conference, but he had left a huge bag of completed work by his desk when he'd fallen asleep and forgotten that it had to be taken to his boss' home by this evening. Arthur lumped himself in the head for getting sidetracked from his duties so easily. Then he regretted it, for it aggravated the tingling pain in his temples and sent a surge of agony straight through the centre of his head. So he simply turned onto his other side, and with a wave of dizziness that the movement brought him, he succumbed to another involuntary, yet lucid and restless, sleep. At least, he thought under his quiet haze, he had acheived his goal of escaping the physical world for a moment.

It wasn't even a minute from then when a rustle reverberated from the trees outside the window, followed by a quick curse from an American accented voice and the slamming of a pair of binoculars on the low ground. Alfred saw his life flash before his eyes as he almost fell from the branch he had been perched on for the last five minutes or so. But he'd seen enough in that time. He knew that Arthur was asleep now; he remembered the way his face looked all those years ago when he would fall asleep by his side. That was his chance, right? Now, the feat of getting from this tree to that window without falling and making a grand mess of himself on the hard ground below.

Couldn't be too hard, right?

It was then that Alfred was forever grateful to the superhuman strength that managed to keep him grabbing onto the windowsill when he stepped out into midair, only realising the air was so bare once he'd made the advance.

He pulled himself up and through the slightly opened window with an ounce of difficulty, but once he was inside, there was only one thing on his mind. That bloke in the bed? He was going to do everything in his power to show him how much better he was for him than Francis was.

"Hey... Hey, Arthur..." he whispered, nudging at his arm.

Arthur simply receeded further into his covers and grumbled. Alfred tutted, shaking his head. Then he placed a de-gloved hand onto the older man's forehead and felt the fever Francis had described to him for himself.

_Dude, it seriously feels dangerous... _Alfred's face scrunched up a bit as he watched Arthur get closer and closer to the bedsheets. He could see the beads of sweat all over his face.

So, naturally, since he was too hot, those bedsheets had to go, right?

"W-What the bloody hell's going on here?" Arthur screeched as he snapped up to a sitting position, having been suddenly robbed of his warm haven and woken from a much needed sleep, before suddenly spotting Alfred there and yelping once more, "Why the bloody hell are _you _here?"

"Oh, hey, dude!" Alfred chirped, pleased with his work, "I thought I'd come take care of you for a bit; that super with you?"

Arthur again receeded into himself, wrapping himself with his arms this time, lacking the blankets over him.

"I don't need you here," he said quietly, "_Francis _is here already."

Alfred's gusto left him immediately. "Yeah, you didn't have to remind me..." he sighed, lumping down onto the side of the bed, before realising that Arthur probably had no idea why he'd be so against that idea, and tried his best to regain his demeanour without getting all flustered and schoolgirly, "Well, where is he, then?"

Arthur's eyes swayed to the side. "Downstairs," he croaked.

"He's not doing too great a job if he isn't by your side twenty-four seven, is he?" Alfred retorted, "I could do way better than he could!"

"Ah, no, that's not quite it; I asked him to-"

Arthur was cut off by both the force of Alfred pushing him forcefully back down onto the bed and the fact that _he had just tried to defend Francis_. What the hell had gotten into him today?

"Well, whatever happens between us two, I'm not gonna let Francis know, alright?" Alfred told Arthur, "And I'm hoping you won't, either."

Arthur raised a bushy eyebrow. "Why's that, exactly?"

Alfred mentally facedesked. He was such an idiot sometimes... Wasn't all of this supposed to be a secret? And now he was practically unveiling his cunning plan to Arthur of all people! Thankfully, he'd noted how easy it was to push Arthur back down onto the bed. And that meant that he had the authority in this situation. And that meant that he could easily get out of any holes he dug himself into.

"You're talkin' too much, man. You should go back to sleep or something! Seriously," he ordered.

Arthur mumbled something about it being Alfred who had woken him up in the first place, but turned over, still without the blankets that Alfred had messily tossed aside, and went through with his command.

"...Dude?"

Seriously, he had fallen asleep, just like that. Alfred shrugged. His job was gonna be a piece of cake, right?

Then he heard the sound of Francis' footsteps on the creaking stairs, and shot into the built-in shoe cupboard at the side of the room in a fraction of a second. Thankfully the space seemed to be a little bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside, so it wasn't too stuffy... He could easily stay there until Francis left! And the best part was that there was a tiny keyhole that he could use to spy on Francis' action while he was hiding. The kind of joy that was brought to him via knowing or seeing something he wasn't supposed to had never let him. It was like he was a little kid again, and he loved it.

Then he heard the muffled cry of, "What the hell happened here?" and was immediately confused. Wait...was Francis replacing the bedsheets he'd gone out of his way to be rid of? Alfred laughed inwardly. What an idiot! Francis obviously thought he knew more about caretaking than he actually did...

"Ah... Your fever's gone up again..." Francis mumbled as he made sure Arthur was engulfed completely in the previous warm haven.

Alfred was taken aback. How could that have happened? Was this some kind of black magic Arthur had released by accident or what? He tutted as he withdrew from the keyhole in a huff. He refused to believe that he'd failed.

"Mm... Alfred...?"

"Ah! Je suis désolé, Arthur... I didn't mean to wake you."

Alfred, Francis thought with a soft and sad sigh. He should have known that that man would have been the first thing on Arthur's mind upon waking... There was no way it'd be him or anything. Not a chance in a million worlds.

"It's alr..."

Arthur hadn't finished the word before he was swallowed by sleep once again. Alfred started to get restless as he heard the quiet creak of the bed, signalling that Francis had sat down and made himself comfortable. Just how long was he planning to stay there for? Alfred's epic plan couldn't come together if he was trapped in a shoe cupboard for the whole time he was there.

He took another peak through the keyhole to see Francis with a pillow behind his back and a book in his hands. Apparently it was going to be rather a long wait.


	6. Note

Alfred just couldn't help but let out a long, hard, exasperatedly bored sigh. Three. Hours. He'd been in there for _three hours_, waiting for Francis to get his ass outta there and leave him to work his magic on Arthur. But no, there had been not a sound from outside of the shoe cupboard to signal Francis walking out of the door; rather, it had gotten quieter and quieter until Alfred was certain that Francis had fallen asleep alongside Arthur. _Just great!_

A growl emitted from his stomach. _Damn, and hungry, too... _Alfred knew he couldn't put up with being in that cupboard for much longer. After all, even if he stayed there silently for the rest of his life, his damn stomach would probably wake up the whole house!

So he decided. He'd give it another half hour. No signs of movement, and then he'd just give up. He loved Arthur from the bottom of his heart, but at that moment, it wasn't his heart that was throbbing.

...Oh, wait. He didn't have access to a clock in a cupboard. Screw the half hour thing, then. He'd have to come up with an explanation on the spot.

"Alright, alright! You win-"

He burst out of the cupboard with a flamboyant slam of the door, but to his surprise there was not a Francis in sight. Instead, there was a startled, panting Arthur in the corner of the room, scared out of his bloody wits.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, Alfred? You scared the God damn life out of me!"

Alfred surveyed the room once more and then returned his gaze to Arthur, laughing nervously, scratching at the back of his neck.

"Sorry, dude. That's the second time today I've kind of just appeared, woken you up and scared the living daylights outta ya. My bad."

"W-Whatever..."

"So where's Francis evaporated off to?"

"...Evaporated?"

"Yeah. He must have evaporated if he made so little noise when he left..."

Arthur looked around a bit. "Now that you mention it... He didn't make a sound. Didn't even wake me up..." He stretched a little to see the top of the bed. "By the looks of the pillows and bedsheets it looks as though he stayed a good while..."

A genuine smile emerged under his flushed face. Francis had stayed that long with nothing to do, just to make sure everything was alright...? _Good show, Francis, good show..._

Alfred hunched over with another giant pang from his stomach before he could notice the calmness on Arthur's face, which immediately dissipated when he heard the noise.

"Hungry?" he asked softly.

"Uh, yeah... Just a little," Alfred admitted, "I'd better go and make some food for us, then."

"Oh, no. I'll make it, Alfred," Arthur insisted, standing up on his weak legs, "I think I can handle it after sleeping a little. I feel refreshed, if not even a little better."

"That's...not quite what I was worried about..."

Arthur wasn't listening; in fact he was already out of the door, Alfred promptly on his tail, the only thing on his mind being the predictable scone disaster that would likely come of this situation.

Arthur's high didn't last long, however. As soon as he was a quarter of the way down the stairs, he knew that he had only been feeling somewhat better before due to the distraction of having just been awoken by a bloke jumping out of his cupboard. He was soon woozy and ready to collapse, having to hold tightly onto the banister for support. He shot a look at Alfred, half hoping that he might notice and try to help him, but alas, not so. Instead Alfred was at the bottom of the stairs before him, and headed into the kitchen to try and hide the necessary scone preparation materials.

Arthur sighed as he reached the bottom of the stairs, falling forward onto the wall in front of him, glad that it was there, for fear that he might have ended up breaking the floor. He stayed there for a little while, clinging to it, trying to catch his breath before proceeding to the kitchen.

Alfred, on the other hand, had stopped still in the kitchen, a note in his hand. Found it on the worktop next to a dish of escargots, chicken Basquaise and a few crêpes with strawberries stuffed in them. Alfred looked around him before proceeding to read it.

_Cher Arthur,_

_I had to dash suddenly. I wish I could have stayed longer. For that, I'm sorry. I made you some food since I know you well enough to predict that you'd push yourself and go downstairs without help. I thought I might as well make that trip worth while by sparing you the task of making your own food._

_À bientôt_

Screw that! Alfred huffed at the note, ripping it up and throwing it in the bin before he had the chance to stop himself. Since when did Francis have the right to say he knew Arthur well enough to predict anything of him? Since when did he have the right to make a move like that? Since when did he have the right to... to just plain exist at this moment?

Alfred teared up a bit. He knew he was being harsh. Francis had _every _right to those luxuries... But he was so jealous that he just couldn't see it.

Either way, there was no way he was going to let Arthur see this. He was being harsh and unfair, but to hell with fairness! This was his love he was talking about! So, as fast as he possibly could, which for Alfred, was at indescribable speed, he ate every last morsel on the worktop. And by God, it was some good stuff. A job well done, he thought to himself; if Arthur had been allowed anywhere near that masterpiece of a meal, he would immediately have fallen head over heels for the French man who made it. That, and he'd just satisfied his own hunger, too.

"Al-Alfred... Sorry I took so long..."

Alfred snapped to the door, where Arthur was standing, still panting softly. Now that his hunger was satisfied, he could properly concentrate on the matter at hand, and it was only now that he noticed how rotten Arthur really did look.

"Uh, that's fine..." he said lamely, dumbfounded at the sight, "You were...going to cook, right?"

Arthur looked up, a proud look on his tired face. "That's right."

Alfred was about to knock down any hope Arthur had for the prospect, but stopped suddenly. The thought of cooking had brought him joy; he could tell by the way it perked him up just a little bit. Sure his food was impossibly bad and looked and smelled as though it should have belonged in a different universe, but if making it brought him just that little bit of pleasure, surely it couldn't be _too _bad for him to cook now, right? After all, it wasn't like Alfred had to eat it or anything now.

"Uh... Sure. Go ahead," he agreed at last, "Have fun..."

Arthur looked at him, almost somewhat disappointed. "Is that...all?"

"What?"

"N-Never mind," Arthur said hastily, walking past him and towards the pantry. It wasn't like he was hoping Alfred would try and stop him out of concern or anything...

"If you're sure," Alfred supposed, watching him carefully, "...What are you going to make, then?"

"Scones," Arthur said with a light cough into his sleeve.

Alfred softly chuckled in his head. "Right..." he mumbled quietly.

At least Francis wasn't the only one who seemed to be able to predict things of Arthur.


	7. On Came the Blankets

As Arthur slowly poured the flour into the bowel, he kept casting glances over his shoulder with annoyance on his face. As he continued the process of making his scones, that annoyance grew more and more intense. Eventually he had to do something about it.

"Alfred, would you please stop hanging over my shoulder like I'm some little child who shouldn't be allowed in the kitchen to save anybody's life?"

Alfred jumped back as though he'd just been busted. "Aw, sorry, dude. Just wanted to watch..."

Arthur raised an eyebrow as he started to bring the ingredients together with his hands. "Is it that you want to watch, or that you want to make sure I'm not making poison?"

"Eh... Bit of both."

Arthur tutted. "Go get stuffed," he said grudgingly, concentrating on his work, "You've been there long enough. Leave me alone now."

Alfred supposed he had, too. Arthur was pretty terrible at cooking, so he naturally took a little longer than everybody else even to get to this point. Alfred had been there the whole time, checking on him every once in a while, and doing nothing else in particular, so at least half an hour must have passed by now. He could probably get away with leaving him for a little while, since Arthur was so obviously pissed off with him now. It was the best thing he could do, after all. The more time passed, the more guilty he felt for eating what Francis had left for Arthur, but possibly more so for ripping up the note.

He stood still for a while, recalling his conversation with Yao. Alfred had said himself that he didn't think Francis was one to get in the way of other people's love... He frowned. Francis was decent. He himself shouldn't have been getting in the way of Francis' love... And yet he just had to go and do it.

"Damn..." he whispered under his breath, half contemplating admitting what he'd done to Arthur...

"...Hm?"

...but when that beautiful, saturated blonde, crystal-emerald eyed head in front of him turned ever so slightly to land such a graceful hint of a curiously formed smile into Alfred's eyes, he realised that he just didn't have what it took to let this man go.

"...Sorry, man," he said hastily, running out of the room to leave Arthur to his own devices, letting him stand and wonder what had just gone on in the younger man's head.

Of course, it had been a miracle that thus far, Arthur's condition hadn't yet taken a turn for the worse while he was upstanding and active, and naturally, his body chose this one moment of lonesomeness to play its inconvenient games. Arthur supposed that it had been Alfred's prescence that had made him want to hold back any displays of indignity... Then he supposed that it was probably just the illness making him think that way.

All at once his temperature shot up, his hands went numb and his mind went blank. And yet no part of his body allowed him the luxury of collapsing. Not even to land his head on the hard surface of the worktop. Nothing happened. He just remained upstanding and conscious through the sudden painful turn of events within himself, even though he was suddenly breathing as though he had run a marathon just seconds before, and that surely should have been enough to send him over the edge of consciousness.

Alfred, meanwhile, was sitting with his head in his hands, sobbing but with dry eyes, in the other room, wishing that today had never happened. Francis wasn't such a bad guy... Sure he was totally pervy, but he had his reasons. Loneliness being the main one...

Damn it! The more Alfred overthought it, the more he wanted to just tell Arthur what had happened. That Francis was truly the only man on the Earth for him. That he was more than just a stupid frog who knew nothing. That he actually knew everything. More than he had the rights to. More than Arthur could ever have dreamed. And that if he mustered up enough courage and sympathy, surely one day Arthur could find the strength to love Francis back... And now, although he'd only left the older man alone for seconds, he just had to do it. He had to get it all off his chest. He just had to. So he silently apologised to Yao in his head for his wasted time and effort trying to get him together with Arthur, and took a step back into the kitchen, his mind set on explaining his cause.

Set, that was, until he saw the absolute state Arthur was in upon his return.

"Oh my God..." he said, his voice so low that he almost couldn't hear it, as he rushed over to the older man's side, "Arthur? What the hell happened to you?"

Arthur was still in a trance of shock and fear at his sudden bad turn, and could only answer with the whimper of Alfred's name, unable even to make eye contact as he was focused so much on his pain.

At that tiny reaction, Alfred knew that he had to do something, and fast. He was shaking at the legs. That must have meant...he needed to sit. He could work that much out. So up Arthur went over Alfred's shoulder, unable to struggle. _God, he's light... _Had Arthur not been eating at all over the past week or so...?

Alfred lumped Arthur down onto the sofa he had previously been inwardly whining upon, and saw that his body simply went limp, and he sat there like an abandoned rag doll. Still unable to lose consciousness. Completely lucid he was.

Right, next... His face. He could tell he was in so much pain by his face. That face was rare. Usually Arthur didn't show pain. Alfred remembered his childhood. Arthur was never one to show he was in pain. And so he never, ever saw this face. He could work that much out, as well. So he quickly nipped off into the kitchen in search of some para... Para-something. He often heard Arthur talking about how magical it was at relieving pain. He ripped open the cupboard, hoping that it was the one where the medicine was kept, and by some miracle he was right on his first go. Round one to him. Then he started throwing things around everywhere, until he came to one blue packet. _Paracetamol_. That was it. He facepalmed for forgetting, but assumed it was due to his panic, and immediately filled up a glass of water and ran back to where Arthur was still flopped over like a rag doll.

"Here..." he said as he tried to get Arthur to take the packet, facepalming again for forgetting his condition, and then popping the tablets himself.

Ah... He had to feed them to him. Arthur would be none to happy if he was being humiliated in that way...

But then he saw Arthur's grass green eyes look up at him for help. That was the look... The look of _save me_. Although it was a look he'd literally never, ever seen in his life... That was the look. So Arthur was willing to submit to him for now... A good sign. A convenient one, at least.

Alfred fed the water and pills to Arthur as carefully as he could, figuring that choking now was probably not such a good idea. Then he took a step back. Sighed. Was his work done...? Arthur looked...somewhat contented. Had he done something right for once...?

Well, it probably wouldn't hurt to check his temperature.

"...Don't go anywhere, alright?" Alfred said, gesturing to Arthur before he backed out of the room.

Arthur could only react in his head. _What a complete and utter idiot... _But also in his head, he smiled.

Alfred immediately went looking for a thermometer. He didn't quite know where one would be kept; as far as he recalled, there hadn't been one in the medicine cupboard, and there were vast quantities of drawers and containers scattered around the kitchen...

Maybe he'd have to give up on that. It wasn't _too _urgent, so he'd probably get away with it. He took a moment to relax, leaning up against the worktop, gazing at the unfinished scones.

And in his moment of relaxation, he got thinking about Francis again. Although, this time, he was thankful for the thought. As it reminded him that Francis had previously been using a thermometer upstairs.

Arthur reacted ever so slightly to the sound of Alfred making his way upstairs, with a twitch and grimace at the noise, but that said to him that he was starting to get over his little bout. But what said that to him even more was that he was slowly, ever so slowly, starting to lose consciousness. _Thank Christ... _He needed that rest; he would admit that this time.

Alfred soon returned at his side, although even after such a small while he had already fallen into a deep, comfortable sleep. Alfred took a moment to look longingly at the limp and weak body, but then realised that it was not appropriate to do so. He was in no way like Francis. Not even in _that _way.

Smoothly, he pushed the thermometer into Arthur's dry, cracked lips and held it there. Again, gazing at the wonderful sight...

That beautiful poise... That gracious air... That smell of roses and the English countryside. It was all contained within him. This one man meant his entire world, even if he was only a tiny, tiny part of it compared to himself.

...He didn't have long to indulge in his fantasy before the thermometer beeped and reminded him that he was still in the real world.

He was calm and collected until he looked at the number and then dropped it in shock. _No... Surely that can't be...? There must be some mistake..._

He shakingly took it from the ground and adjusted his glasses to look at the number again. 41.6...

His eyes had stopped reading before he noticed the °C instead of the °F sitting so innocently beside the numbers... To his American mind, Arthur. Was. Freezing.

So naturally...on came the blankets. One after another...

By the time Alfred was done, Arthur was completely and utterly covered. Sweating like a pig with his dangerous fever that Alfred had failed to realise.

But to him it was a job well done. Or at least, a job done as well as he could...


End file.
